by Jan Washburn
I hope you’re not tired of lobster after working at the Landing, Maggie teased.
It will never happen, Tracy assured her. Serving them and eating them are not exactly the same thing.
Maggie, you should open your own restaurant. Leif rubbed his stomach. You’d put Fisherman’s Landing out of business.
Tracy saw another side of Leif tonight. The stern, silent Viking kept them all in hysterics with stories about some of the inept criminals he had put away. Her eyes were riveted to the flash of those strong, white teeth and the crinkles of laughter around his eyes.
Even Bud, normally shy and introverted in complete contrast to his exuberant wife, added his share of strange stories about the misadventures of operating a kennel.
Tracy would have enjoyed sitting there all night, but she knew the Scalias were early risers. Maggie, it’s getting late. Let me help you clean up here.
No, you’re the guest of honor. You can clean up when it’s my birthday. Besides, Leif has a present for you.
I’ll be right back, Leif promised, disappearing out the back door. He returned leading a half-grown puppy on a leash. The animal’s fur was a soft, silky brown. He pranced along beside Leif on the biggest feet she had ever seen. He looked like an awkward adolescent with too many arms and legs.
Tracy knelt to put her arms around the dog’s neck. The puppy proceeded to wash her face with his tongue. His hindquarters wagged enthusiastically along with his tail. He gazed up at her with soulful brown eyes.
She was captivated. Oh, Leif, thank you. He’s so adorable. What breed is he?
Bud eyed the puppy thoughtfully. In my expert opinion, he’s a dog.
Tracy giggled.
I think he’s mostly Golden Retriever, Maggie added, with maybe a little Collie.
I’m guessing he’s got some German Shepherd in the mix, Leif suggested. He’ll make a good watchdog.
The dog didn’t look ferocious enough to defend her against a rabbit, but she was in love with him at first sight. Does he have a name?
It’s your choice.
Tracy settled on the name of the Norse god of thunder. She knew the others wouldn’t recognize the connection to Leif, her Viking. I’ll call him Thor.
As their gift Maggie and Bud contributed the food and equipment she would need. He’s had all his shots, Maggie assured her, and he’s housebroken—most of the time.
How can you thank friends like that? She hugged them goodnight. You are absolutely the best friends in the whole world.
As Leif drove her home, Thor sat in the back seat, wearing a huge grin. Tracy bubbled over with plans for the puppy. I have some old blankets that will make a perfect bed. Maybe I’ll let him sleep in my room for now. I’ve never had a dog. Do you think I can teach him some tricks?
Leif laughed. The first trick you have to teach him is where to do his business. The next trick is to keep him from chewing up your shoes and your furniture. You can get around to ‘sit, beg, and roll over’ a little later on.
As Tracy led Thor on his leash, Leif escorted her to her front door lugging a supersized bag of puppy chow. I’ll feel better now that you’re not alone in the house, he said gruffly.
Tracy looked up into those sea-gray eyes. Thank you so much, Leif. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.
For a long moment Leif stood silent, his gaze fastened on her face. Gently he reached out a hand and traced the curve of her cheek. Tracy held her breath.
Her birthday got even better as he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Standing on tiptoe, she put her arms around his neck and melted into his embrace. This was crazy—he was a cop and she was America’s Most Wanted —but it felt so right.
The kiss ended when Thor wrapped his leash around their legs.
****
The small handbell room was crammed with people and a floor full of bell cases. Thirteen ringers stood elbow to elbow behind the padded tables which were arranged to form a semi-circle around Tracy’s music stand.
Leif pulled on his gloves and hefted the bells on the table in front of him. Although they were no problem for him, he understood why Tracy needed some muscle for these lower bells. Some of the smaller women would have trouble picking them up, let alone ringing them.
The lettering on his bells said F3 and G3. He had no idea what the markings meant, but Tracy told him he should hold the F bell in his left hand and the G bell in his right hand. She had circled the notes on his music with red and blue markers. A red circle meant ring the right hand bell; blue meant ring the left hand bell. That didn’t sound too complicated.
Handbells for dummies, he decided.
Singing in the choir, he learned enough about music to recognize the various notes—an eighth, a quarter, a half, a whole note—and how many beats to hold each one. All he had to do was count. You can do this, he told himself.
He glanced around the room to see if anyone else looked as confused as he felt. Maggie was there, of course, but he was surprised to see that Sheila Dunn had volunteered to ring. Tracy was not one of Sheila’s favorite people.
Tracy looked like a little schoolmarm behind the music stand. Her beautiful dark hair, pulled up in some kind of a fancy twist, made her look very dignified. He could tell that she was in her element, excited about this first rehearsal with her rag-tag ringers.
Get your mind off that kiss, he told himself. The memory of that night sent his pulse into overdrive. But he put on the brakes. He was in dangerous territory. No cop with a brain would get involved with a suspect, but she had cast some kind of a spell over him. How had she hypnotized him into joining a handbell choir?
Her sweet voice interrupted his musings. Now, to make the bells sound their best, we don’t just bang them. She shook a bell with a harsh clang. To get a musical sound, we need to make circles with our hands, like this. It not only sounds better, it looks more dramatic. She demonstrated the correct way to ring. Now, everybody try it.
Leif tried to make a circular movement with his hand, but he was beginning to have doubts about his coordination. Maybe his hands weren’t connected to his brain. In his first attempt, he made a perfect circle, but no sound came out of the bell. With enormous patience, Tracy showed him how to flick his wrist as he began his circle.
When the group seemed to be getting the hang of it, she went on. Now to stop the sound, we need to damp the bell by touching it to our shoulder or chest. She demonstrated again, ringing the bell with a graceful circling motion and then silencing the sound against her sweater.
They all tried ringing and damping.
Now, everybody take a bell in each hand. Ring the bell in your right hand, damp the sound, and then ring the bell in your left hand. They shouldn’t both ring at the same time.
After several minutes of ringing and damping, they were all anxious to try actually playing a song.
Tracy picked Amazing Grace as their first piece. I tried to pick music that didn’t have too many accidentals, she explained.
Accidentals? Leif puzzled. Whatever they are . He felt like an accidental waiting to happen.
Tracy gave them a count of three and they all plunged enthusiastically into the song. The result was total chaos. It sounded as though no two ringers were playing the same song.
Before they were halfway down the first page, Tracy signaled them to stop. She looked shell-shocked. You have to count, she said patiently. This is three-four time. Three beats to a measure. Don’t hurry. It isn’t a race to see who can finish first. When my baton comes down, that’s beat one. You have to watch me.
Maggie spoke up. Tracy, how many music directors does it take to change a light bulb?
Tell me, she said.
Nobody knows. Maggie gave her a sly smile. Nobody watches the director.
Leif smothered a laugh. Watching the music and the director at the same time was not easy.
Very funny, Tracy scolded, but she joined in the laughter. Now, let’s try it again, watching and counting, watching and counting.
Leif was surprised at their second attempt. There were a number of goofs, including a few of his own but from time to time it was actually possible to recognize the song they were playing.
Tracy looked thrilled. All right! she exclaimed. We’re on a roll. Let’s try it again. Remember your circles.
Despite a few miscues, by the fourth time through, the sound was fairly good. The choir gave itself a round of applause.
And then Leif felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Carefully he laid his bells on the table and stepped out into the hall. Chief Ericson, he said.
Leland, it’s Lucille. You better get over here fast. The alarms at Henry’s garage are making an awful racket. I’ll bet they can hear them down in Plymouth.
I’m on my way. Who’s on duty—Mike and Will? Tell them I’ll handle it. And you’d better give Henry a call.
Leif put his head in the door of the music room. Tracy, I have to go. If I don’t get back in time, see that the boys get home.
Tracy waved an acknowledgment and Leif made a dash for his car. The minute he stepped out the door of the church, he heard the shrieks and clamor of the alarm. Henry had devised his own alarm system. It didn’t send a quiet signal to some remote security company. It announced to the whole town of Allerton and points beyond, that someone was breaking into Henry’s garage.
The garage was just a few blocks from the church. By the time he pulled up in front of the building, Leif decided that ear plugs should be standard equipment in his SUV.
Henry arrived at the same time. Henry, Leif shouted to make himself heard over the din, can you shut that thing off?
Henry signaled an OK. Despite his hefty three hundred pounds, he sprinted to the office, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside. In an instant there was a blessed silence.
Immediately Leif began an inspection of the building. Although there were no signs of tampering on the garage bay doors, there were suspicious gouges in the wood frame of the office door and the striker plate had been bent back.
Henry leaned over Leif’s shoulder as he examined the marks. Looks like he tried to use a chisel or a screwdriver, he commented.
What have you got in the safe, Henry? The crown jewels?
I don’t even have much cash, Henry assured him. I made a deposit at the bank yesterday.
He must have been after your tools, Leif decided.
There’s nothing else there to steal, Henry put in. I suppose maybe a car, if he wanted to smash it straight through the wall. He couldn’t open those bay doors unless he brought a bolt cutter. Besides, the only cars in the garage right now are my old pickup truck and Tracy’s Galaxie. Not exactly high priority for car thieves.
Leif examined the door again. There’s not too much damage to the wood, but you’ll need to replace that striker plate.
Henry nodded. I’ve been in business here for thirty years. First time something like this happened. I’m glad he didn’t get my tools.
Reset your alarm, Leif reminded him. I have a feeling this guy is going to come back. He stood for a moment, studying the scene. Henry, I don’t like the smell of this. There’s something fishy going on here.
More than Great Riches
CHAPTER XI
Leif tilted his chair back and stared at the office ceiling. It had been several days since the attempted break-in at Henry’s, but something about it kept gnawing at the fringes of his mind. Absent-mindedly he massaged his bad knee as he tried to diagnose the source of his unease.
A thief should know that Henry didn’t keep a lot of cash on hand. People paid for car repairs with a check or credit card, not petty cash. If a crook was looking for a place to steal tools, Henry’s garage was not the best choice. It was built like a fortress. Robbing the hardware store would be as simple as a rock through a plate glass window.
As for stealing Henry’s pickup truck or Tracy’s Ford—there were easier places to grab a car. There was nothing else of value in the garage unless Henry had some special equipment that he had overlooked.
His musings were interrupted by a commotion outside his office door. He jumped to his feet, afraid that Lucille was climbing on a chair again to change a light bulb. Yanking the door open, he found Will forcing a seedy looking man into a chair as Lucille prepared to book him.
What’s up, Will?
I didn’t do nothing wrong, the man shouted.
Old man Miller found this guy sleeping in his shed, Will reported. Doesn’t think he stole anything.
Leif studied the vagrant with suspicion. He had seen this man before. A picture came into his mind of the stranger who came to Tracy’s door offering to pay fifteen thousand dollars for her old Ford. He caught only a brief glimpse of the man that day, but the image was clearly imprinted in his brain. Tracing the license plate on the guy’s junk Chevy had led to a dead end. The plate had been stolen from another car in Wareham.
But this was definitely the same man—painfully thin, scraggly hair. He was even wearing the same nauseous green sweatshirt.
I believe I’ve met this gentleman before, Will. Before you book him, I’d like to have a little talk with him. Leif turned to the culprit. What’s your name?
John Sylvester.
Any aliases?
No, sir. I ain’t no crook.
You’d better be telling me the truth, Leif warned. Lucille, run that name through the system.
Of course, Leland.
I’ll take care of this, Will. Mr. Sylvester, if you’ll please step into my office.
Impeded by the handcuffs behind his back, the prisoner managed to unfold to his full height. He slouched into Leif’s small office and dropped heavily into a chair.
Leif was more interested in the man’s visit to Tracy than in the trespassing charge, but he started with the immediate problem. So what were you doing in Mr. Miller’s shed?
The man’s voice was thin and reedy, almost a whine. I been trying to pick up some work. Make enough money for bus fare home. That place looked as though they could use a handyman, but there weren’t nobody home. I waited a while, but no one showed. When it started to rain, I ducked in the shed. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Sylvester’s voice trailed off. He looked expectantly at Leif, obviously hopeful that his sad tale of woe would earn him a little sympathy.
Where’s home?
Portland, Maine. Never shoulda left.
Leif pretended to be mulling over a decision, although he knew exactly where he was going with this. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. Well, I might be able to forget the trespassing in exchange for some information.
Sylvester frowned. Information? I don’t know nothing.
We’ll see. Leif smothered a smile. A week ago you knocked on a lady’s door offering a ridiculous amount of money to buy her car. Tell me what that was that all about.
Sylvester came to attention. That ain’t illegal.
No, that’s true, but those were stolen tags on your car.
That weren’t my car, he protested. I swear. A guy loaned it to me. I didn’t know the tags was stolen.
And where were you planning to get fifteen thousand dollars to pay the young lady for her car?
Sylvester shifted uneasily in his chair. Leif knew the handcuffs were making him uncomfortable, but he suspected they weren’t the source of Sylvester’s uneasiness. The vagrant eyed him cautiously. You’re gonna forget the trespassing if I tell you about that?
I said I might do that.
Sylvester seemed to be holding a debate with himself. To tell or not to tell. He heaved a deep sigh. I wasn’t really gonna buy the car. This guy in Wareham said he’d pay me a hundred bucks if I’d find out where the lady’s car was. I figured the easiest way to find out was to just go and ask the lady.
Leif hesitated. This story wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. Why did this guy want to know about the car?
The vagrant shrugged. Don’t ask me. All I cared about was making a hundred bucks.
Do you know the man’s name?
&nbs
p; He shook his head. No idea. The church serves a free lunch on Saturday. I was sitting there, eating my lunch, minding my own business, and this guy just walked in and picked me out of the crowd.
What did he look like?
I don’t know. Just a guy. About thirty or so. Tall, dark hair.
Had you ever seen him before?
Nope. Never laid eyes on him.
And that’s all the description you can give me? Leif snapped.
Well, he was dressed nice. Real classy looking. Had a little beard, you know what I mean, like he forgot to shave.